


The Headmaster

by lirin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Highwayman - Alfred Noyes
Genre: Battle of Hogwarts, Chocolate Box Treat, F/M, Pastiche of "The Highwayman", Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:38:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9569834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirin/pseuds/lirin
Summary: The school was a flaming dragon in a world where darkness grew.The moon was a floating kelpie of alabaster hue.The towers stood up like watchmen in famous tales of yoreAnd the Headmaster came walking—Walking—walking—The Headmaster came walking down an old corridor.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gelsey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelsey/gifts).



> I've been a fan of Alfred Noyes for a long time, so when I saw your prompt I couldn't resist.

The school was a flaming dragon in a world where darkness grew.  
The moon was a floating kelpie of alabaster hue.  
The towers stood up like watchmen in famous tales of yore,  
And the Headmaster came walking—  
    Walking—walking—  
The Headmaster came walking down an old corridor.

He’d a black cloak sweeping behind him, a shirt buttoned up to the chin,  
A coat of inky velvet setting off sallow skin.  
He held his wand out at the ready as he passed each bolted door.  
And he walked with his footsteps steady,  
    Each measured stride was steady,  
Despite his speed quite steady, across the marble floor.

The Dark Mark burned on his forearm as he hurried up the stairs,  
Signaling one more worry above his other cares.  
He stepped ‘round one last corner, and who should be coming there  
But the brave head of the Lions,  
    His favorite of the Lions,  
Wand held high, in dressing gown with unrestrainèd hair. 

Within the empty space between, a presence could be sensed  
Beneath a cloak of concealment. The cold Headmaster tensed.  
Potter must have returned to the castle. His advent portended a fray.  
But he trusted the head of the Lions,  
    The well-loved head of the Lions.  
Snape knew he was there and listening, and so he could not say—

“Farewell, my bonny sweetheart, until we meet again,  
I promise despite all you think, I don’t rate your disdain.  
There once was ardor ‘twixt us, though nothing now but sorrow.  
Remember me in the moonlight,  
    Our shared and shining moonlight.  
We’ll reconcile in the moonlight—if both survive the morrow.”

He raised his wand at the ready; he could not touch her hand.  
He blocked the spells she was casting. It was his final stand.  
He sheltered himself near some armor; Her daggers sunk into its breast;  
And he fled from his love in the moonlight,  
    O, bitter loss in the moonlight!  
He cast himself out towards the moonlight, and magically flew to the west.

***

Soon many came to the castle, on both sides of the fight.  
The DA and the Order came in defense of the light.  
As the towers looked down like watchmen in famous tales of yore,  
The Death Eaters came crowding—  
    Crowding—crowding—  
The Dark Lord’s folk came crowding, up to the castle door.

The Dark Lord spoke through the darkness, warning them to give in.  
They must give up Harry Potter; there was no way they could win.  
His people surrounded the castle, with wands held at their side!  
There was death outside every window  
    And grief at one dark window;  
For Minerva thought, in the distance, she recognized _his_ stride.

Angry, she stood at attention, watching her troops prepare.  
Former students and current, all were gathered there.  
“Good luck to all!” she told them. She wished she had said before—  
“Think of me in the moonlight;  
    Our shared and shining moonlight.  
I’ll see you again in the moonlight—if both survive the war.”

She twisted her spells round the castle, but knew they’d not hold for long.  
Still she waved her hands as she cast them, said the charms that seemed like song.  
The defenders spread out through the castle, waiting but ready to run,  
Till, on the stroke of midnight,  
    Cold, on the stroke of midnight,  
Spells lit up the night in flashes. The battle had begun.

Spells lit up the night in flashes. The school was rent with strife.  
Angry, she stood at attention, preparing to risk her life.  
She gathered desks and statues, sending them to attack,  
While elsewhere, beneath the moonlight,  
    The dim and dreary moonlight,  
Snape was summoned from under the moonlight, to go to the Shrieking Shack.

He trod across the school grounds when he heard his Lord’s command;  
He trod the lonely pathway to the village near at hand.  
In the shack a sliver of moonlight spilled across the floor.  
And the Headmaster came walking—  
    Walking—walking—  
The Dark Lord looked at him coldly; his snake slid to the fore.

He spoke in a hiss of his wayward wand; he spoke in a hiss to the snake.  
In the air the cage rolled nearer, with anguish in its wake.  
Snape’s eyes grew wide for a moment; he drew one last deep breath,  
Then the serpent moved in the moonlight,  
    The serpent shattered the moonlight,  
Shattered his world in the moonlight and sent him to his death.

In the castle, the battle continued; she did not know who lay  
Alone with his throat ripped open, his skin gone cold and gray.  
Not till the dawn she heard it, and her face grew pale to hear  
How her love, the head of the Serpents,  
    The black-eyed head of the Serpents,  
Had been loyal beyond all knowing, and slain in the serpent’s lair.

The Dark Lord bragged of the murder, shrieking a curse to the sky,  
As he dueled against Harry Potter, the Elder Wand brandished high.  
Gold-red was the glow of the morning sun; wine-red was the blood of the lost,  
When the Dark Lord died in the morning,  
    As dead as his victims that morning,  
He was vanquished forever that morning, though heavy had been the cost.

***

And still of a summer’s night, they say, when the school is hushed anew,  
When the moon is a floating kelpie of alabaster hue,  
While the towers stand mute like watchmen in famous tales of yore,  
The Headmistress comes walking—  
    Walking—walking—  
The Headmistress comes walking down an old corridor.

Her memories burn in the silence as she climbs the flights of stairs,  
Reclaiming forgotten worries and other, kinder, cares.  
She steps ‘round one last corner—yet no-one is standing there  
But the brave head of the Lions,  
    The once-loved head of the Lions,  
Alone in the dark, in dressing gown with unrestrainèd hair.

**Author's Note:**

> [The original poem](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/43187), for those unfamiliar. And [set to music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iadDAYSnJ7s) (with 2 stanzas missing for some reason) by Loreena McKennitt.


End file.
